Yesterday was, overall, a very good day. I finally got my feast of raw oysters and mercury laden swordfish, washed down by birth defect causing beer. This was my negative HPT celebration, long overdue.
I also brought the yellow dog to the dog park, made great progress socializing her and got great tips from other dog owners about stopping her barking to strangers. I even met an extremely friendly guy who had learned Spanish in Guatemala and wanted some practice.
I later checked out this book from the library, thinking it would help me understand some of the yellow dog's behaviors and deal with them. It's nothing serious, it's just her barking to strangers and some of her rough playing. We've made some progress but I wanted some additional pointers.
After the library, I went with the spouse to a coffee shop and began reading. A few pages into it, I started crying. Later, reading at home, it happened again.
Let me tell you, this is no tear-jerking story, it's just a dog trainer narrating her experiences with service dogs. Some of the anecdotes are very sad and have made me think of my own loss. Normally I am good at not crying when the spouse is around, but this time I really could not help it.
I feel like a wuss. The stories themselves prove that there are worse losses than mine. I know many bloggers have had multiple losses, while I only had one miscarriage. Why can't I just move on and be grateful for the good things in my life?
I wonder if I ever will be able to read a book or watch a movie without the sad emotions surfacing and taking over me. It's got to stop, but I don't know how.
For now, I think, I am going to read Calvin and Hobbes.